


What the Water Gave Me

by MileyCyprus_Hill



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2, rdr2 - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Little Mermaid Elements, Love, Mermaid Reader, Romance, mermaid oc, metamorphosis later on, somewhat slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MileyCyprus_Hill/pseuds/MileyCyprus_Hill
Summary: Months ago, I decided to write a cliché fic inspired by a dream I had where Arthur woke up on the beaches of Guarma. I guess my brain wanted a RDR2/Little Mermaid crossover. It’s corny, I know. This is just a preview from my notes, so constructive criticism is very appreciated! I’ll post more previews instead of unloading it in one big post. I don’t even know if I’ll actually make it into an actual fic. But I had fun. Hope formatting looks alright as I’m transferring my works from my Tumblr page. Enjoy!
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Mermaid, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	1. Shipwrecked

Arthur wakes up on a sandy shore. The sounds of waves gently coax him to open his eyes. He’s not sure if he’s alive or dead.

This couldn’t be heaven or paradise. It’s muggy, and the sun is shining brutally on his exposed skin.

He blinks once, then twice, trying to regain his sight in the bright sunlight. He’s tired and weak, but nonetheless he groggily pushes himself up to sit on the shore.

_Is this Cuba? He wonders. How the hell did I get- oh…_

For a brief moment after he woke, he forgot about the ship…the fire…screaming to Dutch from where he stood at the bow, watching them paddle on without him, calling his name. He feels his heartbeat race at the recollection, beating at the same frantic pace as it did when he stood there…terrified. 

He then remembers falling, hitting the water.

It felt oddly cold. 

The large flames on the ship turned into small distorted candlelights, as he drifted further down below the surface. He remembers the sounds of men screaming. 

The horrible creaking of the ship as it sank into the ocean.

Another sound sparks in his memory. He heard it when he struggled to breach the waters.

What was it?

It was like a squeal, but not like any animal he heard. It was almost…soothing. Like something was singing or humming in an extremely high tune. 

He felt both calm and frightened at the vocalization.

_Probably just the ship, he thought to himself._


	2. Not Alone

Arthur struggles to stand up on the shore. He’s beyond exhausted. The short stubble on his face has now grown into a full, scruffy beard. Who knows how long he had been passed out on the beach? His eyesight is still blurry as he tries to take in the scenery around him. He finally stands and takes a few steps, but abruptly stops.

“What the hell?” he exclaims softly.

He looks upon a blurry form laying on the rocks nearby. The waves crashing upon it. At first, he thought it was a beached dolphin. But this one looked like it had hair!

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, his vision slowly improving. God, his head was throbbing, and the sun shining brightly wasn’t helping. He began to cough violently, which stirred the creature on the rocks.

It awoke with a gasp. It wasn’t startled. It was more of a gasp similar to that of someone finally getting air after nearly drowning. 

Arthur froze, trying his best to stifle his coughs. His head ached with every hack that escaped his throat. The pressure it caused on his skull was unbearable, as it caused him to drop to his knees. The creature shuffled nervously as he fell on the sand. 

Arthur drew his hands out, “No—” _*cough cough*_ “No, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

He lowered his hands to his knees as he caught his breath, not looking away from the beast before him. Except it wasn’t a beast, Arthur realized. He leaned forward a bit to get a better look, and he saw that it was a woman! This woman must’ve washed on shore alongside him from the shipwreck. But he noticed there was something odd about her. 

Where are her legs? he wondered. He began to crawl slowly towards her. He was so tired. But he wanted to see if she was okay, or more likely…to see if she was real. She looked as if she had been partially swallowed by a huge fish. it was mind-boggling.

The woman before him stayed still, laid on her stomach on the warm rock as he crept closer and closer. 

She looked like she was struggling to breathe. Every exhale was ragged.

Is she choking? He wondered. But then he noticed her neck.

“Are those-?” He asked, but stopped himself.

No, they can’t be.

But then he saw them open. The slits on her neck. At first glance, he thought she had been cut. But they didn’t look like knife wounds. They were perfect. Three crescent-shaped slits, one right behind the other on both sides of her neck, below her ears. They opened when she exhaled, and closed when she inhaled.

_Gills,_ he thought. _But how?_

“Uuhh,” was all he could say. He was dumbfounded, but he had to say something. Something to let her know she can trust him.  
“Are…you okay, ma— ma’am?” He asked her wearily.

She opens her chapped lips to speak, “Funny. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

It was such a low whisper, it was as if it took every ounce of strength for her to speak.

“Nah, I’m…I’m alright,” Arthur lied. With that said, he collapsed again. His head hit the soft sand, scratching the sunburn on his face. He felt his eyelids go heavy, but tried so hard to keep them open. The woman slowly slid off the rocks and landed with a soft thud onto the sand next to him. From where Arthur laid, he could see that her lower half was right in front of him. All he could see were fish scales, shimmering in the sunlight. They were a beautiful, translucent green that started seamlessly below her navel. His eyes wandered further down, to her — _is that a tail?_  
She didn’t have any legs. If she did, then they must have been inside this massive tail…thing. Her fins looked similar to a dolphin’s, but delicate and spotted like a mackerel

Arthur reached out to her to see if she was real. He touched where her hips were —or should be — and felt her rough and slippery scales. 

“What are you, some sort of mermaid?” Arthur asked sarcastically, remembering the pictures he saw in one of Jack’s story books. “I really must be dead,” he says with a weak chuckle.

“Lay there much longer and you soon might be,” the strange woman replies. Her voice was soft, yet sharp. She brushes Arthur’s wild hair out of his eyes. He barely felt her touch.

Arthur’s eyes couldn’t stay open. He drops his head on the sand and his vision turns to black.

The woman before him sighs.


	3. The Castaways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We’re still sort of in the introductory stages of this fic. However, I’ve got ideas for further chapters already planned out. So hopefully I’ll get those out ‘cause I’m excited to show you the romance between Arthur and our mermaid reader! This chapter starts from Arthur’s POV then switches to reader’s and then flip-flops back and forth. So I hope reading it doesn’t seem confusing or clunky._

Arthur has no idea how long he’d been passed out on the beach. Or how long it had been since the shipwreck. Time was lost to him. Had it been hours? Days?

He looks around and notices he’s alone. The strange woman who washed along shore with him is now gone.  
As he wearily raises himself up on his feet, Arthur tries to tell himself that she was just a mirage…a figment of his imagination due to severe dehydration. 

_But she looked so real._

He remembers the blue-ish, green mass laid in front of him, inches from his face. 

The scales. 

The fin. 

It all _felt_ so real. 

But Arthur trudges on. To where? Who knows. All Arthur does know is that if he wants to survive, he can’t wait around the beach.

 _“Lay there much longer and you soon might be.”_ the woman’s voice replays in his mind.

Arthur shakes his head. Real or not, she was right. Whoever she was. If Arthur stayed, he’d be dead. 

He has to find fresh water. It’s the only thing on his mind right now. 

Each step is agony on his bare feet as they burn on the hot sand and rock.

The thought of cool, fresh water causes Arthur’s throat to ache. Each dry swallow is worse than the last, like he’s continuing to dry his throat of every last bit of moisture with each small gulp.

He looks across the horizon at the sea. 

It taunts him. The salty white caps of the waves softly crash upon the beach. Here he is, surrounded by sea water, with nothing to drink.  
As Arthur walks on, he sees out of the corner of his eye a small plume of smoke. He turns to his left and can’t believe the sight before him.

His mind must be playing tricks on him again. 

He calls out.

“Dut…Dutch,” Arthur shouts weakly. 

He nearly collapses, but he has to stay awake to make sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him again. He was worried he had lost Dutch and the gang forever.

“Arthur!” Dutch calls out to him from beneath the shade of the palm trees. “You’re…you’re alive! Somebody get him a goddamn drink!”

Arthur is handed a canteen and greedily guzzles down the water.

—————

A few hours pass as Arthur regains his strength by the group. He is able to think a little more clearly now he’s had water and is resting in the shade. 

While he’s still nervous, he feels a wave a relief to see Dutch’s familiar face. Like a small child who had been separated from their parent, only to be found in their embrace again. Hearing Dutch’s voice gave Arthur a sense of security.  
No matter the situation, Dutch always had conviction in his speech, a confidence that things could turn for the better…even if they didn’t. 

In fact, they didn’t.

—————

(Y/N) had been silently watching from the waters ever since she left Arthur on that beach.  
She was going to leave him there after he passed out, but something kept her close. Some unexplainable guilt. Even though she couldn’t trust humans, she couldn’t leave this one to die.

Who was she to judge? She may have been hurt by humans all her life but, what if this man is a good one? Could she bear to let an innocent castaway die?

So she found herself swimming back to shore, back to where they had washed up together.

But he was gone.

“Dammit,” she whispered as she slapped the water in frustration.

She was tempted to call out for him, but she didn’t want to risk getting unwanted attention. She knows what lurks on this small island, and who runs it: that greedy dictator Colonel Fussar. 

She’s already risking her life by staying close. 

She begins to swim parallel to the beach, keeping her distance and herself submerged, only poking out a few times to check for Arthur.

The further she swam on, the more concerned she had become. She worried that Arthur had been captured by Fussar’s men. She wasn’t even sure if he’d be walking along the beach if he hadn’t.  
The more she thought about this, the more it became apparent just how futile this search is.

_Perhaps he went inland into the jungle._

“(Y/N), you idiot,” she cursed herself, “you shouldn’t have left him there. Now what are you gonna do?” 

As she sighed in defeat, she heard voices. 

Male voices, numerous ones. 

She ducked underwater and swam to a natural stone arch in the distance. She poked her head out behind the rock and looked to see two groups of men: one group in shackles, the others in blue with guns drawn. 

From behind the stone arch, she studied the men chained together. She assumed they were escaped laborers. Colonel Fussar is known for taking prisoners on the island and enslaving them to work on the plantations.  
In fact, it was a laborer who freed her from Fussar’s clutches. A merchant who was enslaved after making an emergency stop on the island when his crew members were deathly ill. He found her confined in a small pool, starving and sick.  
The man risked his life to save her. He could have left her when he came across her on the run. But he couldn’t bear the thought of a poor creature living in a cramped tank, only to be gawked at in a traveling freak show.  
He had heard talk of a mermaid across the plantation, and when he saw she was real, it was his chance to save her. 

A bellowing voice shook her from her thoughts, “Excuse me sir! Who are our new friends here?”

It was from the chain gang; a tall, dark-haired man. Even from a distance, she could see his face was red from sun burn. 

A guard replies with a malevolent speech, “Criminales.”

Additional men are shackled together to the pack and begin to walk. As (Y/N) scans the group, her eyes land on the man at the end and her heart stops.

She immediately recognized Arthur, walking barefoot and barely keeping up with the group. 

He was alive.

For now.

He must have felt her gaze as he looked over to the arch to where she was lurking and saw her. Their eyes locked. 

(Y/N) froze, her heart now racing.

Arthur stops in his tracks, pulled slightly from his waist by the chain connecting him to Dutch. Unfortunately, one of the guards notices and beats him twice across the shoulder and his legs.  
He cries out in pain and nearly falls over from the impact, but limps on like a beaten dog. 

“You alright Arthur?” Dutch quietly asks behind him.

“…’m fine,” Arthur replies, sucking in a breath.

Arthur squints his eyes over to (Y/N) at the arch. She hasn’t moved from her spot. Her face grimaced at the scene.  
They’re about to turn into the jungle when the blast of gunshots halt them. 

It all happens so quickly. 

A guard falls dead next to Arthur. (Y/N) helplessly watches from her hiding spot as Arthur scrambles to grab a gun off the man.  
(Y/N) goes against her better judgement and swims closer to the beach to get a better look, stopping behind another rock. 

She watches the carnage ensue as Arthur kills the rest of the guards. They’re hopelessly distracted by the gunfire from the trees and don’t notice Arthur shooting them from behind. He expertly shoots each guard through the head. Their legs buckle underneath their weight and their limp bodies fall hard on the sand, one by one.

As quickly as it started, the fight stops and the group of men unchain themselves. Suddenly, voices are heard in the distance. (Y/N) looks to her right and sees another cluster of soldiers arrive. Looking back over to Arthur and his gang members, she watches him and the other men flee into the jungle, leaving discarded cartridges in their wake.

She grinds her nails against the rock as a short prisoner falls to the ground in pain, shot through his leg. 

“Javier!” a man calls out.

“Get outta here! Go on, get outta here!” The wounded man named Javier shouts.

Arthur and Dutch stand together in the tree line, contemplating for a millisecond whether to grab him or leave him. 

Arthur looks out to the waters in search of (Y/N). He can’t see her anywhere. 

Dutch pushes him on into the trees. Sprinting into the dense forest, Arthur hears a distant, womanly voice holler from behind them. 

“Hey! Hey over here!” 

Arthur halts, skidding his bare feet into the dirt, and turns to look towards the beach, but he’s quickly grabbed by Dutch and is pushed on further.

—————

(Y/N) doesn’t think for a second to regret her decision. Though, she soon might.  
She watches Arthur and the men run further into the forest. Her focus goes back to Javier on the ground. The group of soldiers are quickly approaching and shooting wildly.

She has to act fast.

With a swish of her massive tail, she swims nearer to the beach, to the soldiers.

“Hey!” she calls out “Hey, over here!”

 _*CLAP!*_ She slaps her tail on the surface of the water.

She hopes to bring the soldiers’ attention to her and away from Javier as she swims in the direction where they came from. There were at least a dozen of them. A number of them stop in their tracks and turn to look at the commotion her way.

“Please…help me!” she cries, stopping at a small rock and holding on.

She counted six men who stopped. Four of them run towards her, while the other two continue to Javier.

“Shit,” she exclaims under her breath. She was really hoping the whole group would be distracted.

Staying by the rock on shore, she attempts to submerge her lower half underwater, away from view.

“Señora!” a soldier shouts, “Swim to us! Señora!” They jog closer, rifles in hand.

“Uhh…I can’t! Please help! I don’t know if I can hold on much longer!”

Her mind races to come up with a plan. She feigns exhaustion and pretends to lose her grip on the rock.  
A wave crashes upon her and she slips a hand off the rock. Her strong tail is wrapped to it below the surface.

“Heeeelllllp!” she screams.

The four men have now reached the edge of the beach, just a couple hundred yards away from her.

_C’mon….c’mon._

“Hold on, Señora. We’ll getcha!” Two men begin to enter the water, one of them abandoning their rifle at the beach.  
They wade their way through before reaching out to her; just close enough for her to stretch out and brush her fingertips with the man on her left. They’re only waist deep in the ocean.

“Closer! I don’t think I can reach.” she whines in her best pathetic tone. “My legs…they’re – they’re broken.”  
She pretends to lose her strength on the rock as another wave crashes. The look of frustration is clear on both soldiers’ faces as they step closer to her. Both of them start to lose their balance as they continue deeper into the waves. 

Both men are now on either side of her. Reaching to the one of shorter stature, she grabs onto his hand. The soldier appears to be young, with a pencil-thin mustache and a missing front tooth. Even in the water, he looked minuscule, dwarfed by the man next to him. His hands feel thin and soft. The man to her right however, is the exact opposite: rough, scarred, and heavy. This one would prove to be difficult.

She wraps her arms around the young man’s shoulders.

“Oh! Oh thank you! Thank you!” (Y/N) cries behind fake tears and doesn’t hesitate.

She grabs his shirt collar tightly, and drops underwater, pulling him under with her. The young man is stronger than she thought, as he struggles violently against her grip. (Y/N) quickly wraps both arms under his armpits and interlocks her fingers at the back of his head. His arms are rendered useless against her grip, but he continues to kick and thrash wildly. The older man shouts from above the surface. By now, he can see her true form through the clear water.

She feels him grab at her tail and attempt to pull her towards shore. Wriggling herself free, she maintains her tight grip on the young soldier. Flapping her tail, she swims further away, dragging the man with her. The further he thrashes, the weaker he falls beneath her grip. As they continue to wrestle on the sea floor, they’re soon enveloped in an opaque cloud of white sand.  
She feels the tension of his body soften, but maintains her grip. Not until she’s choked every bit of life from him.  
Soon, his body becomes completely limp in her arms, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The look of permanent shock and fear is locked on his face as the cloudy sand clears.

(Y/N) let his body go and he sinks to the ocean floor. She pokes the top of her head above the surface to find the second soldier. If she struggled that much with the younger man, this one would require more tenacity. The large soldier quickly spots her and grabs at her, managing to latch onto her arm. (Y/N) yelps in fear as he drags her towards him. The remaining two men on shore are wading through the shallow waters as fast as they can towards the commotion. She can barely think as the man’s calloused hands grip tighter around her forearm, his other hand holding his rifle above the water.  
She acts instinctively and thrashes her hands, using her weight against him. She instantly knocks the rifle from his hand and it crashes into the water.

“You bitch!” The man shouts, balling his now empty hand into a fist and striking the side of her head.

A flash of white blinds her eyes from the impact of his massive fist. She’s left disoriented for a moment and cannot fight against him. Suddenly, two thundering shots ring out from the beach. The pair of them look to the source of the gunfire.

It’s the man named Javier, now bleeding out on the beach. The trauma of his leg wound exhausts him, but he manages to kill the two guards holding him down on the sand. Their bodies now lay beside him, one of them missing a revolver from their holster.

(Y/N) realizes now this leaves the remaining four men to her. She hears one of them shout.

“Get her back to the beach! We’ll deal with this one!”

The two guards wade back to the shore, leaving her with just the one. His hands are gripped tightly around each arm, bruising them. He closes the space between them and sneers with tobacco-stained teeth, his dark beard stinks of rum and rotten meat.  
(Y/N) struggles against his grip, it grows tighter and tighter like a vice the more she wiggles. He drags her closer and closer to shore.  
A large wave swells from behind them and crashes into their bodies, the large man soon loses his footing and nearly falls into the water. (Y/N) takes her chance and wriggles an arm free, reaching behind her head. From her hair she pulls out a brooch, carved from bone with two long, sharp prongs. Another wave rolls upon them. Using the momentum of the wave, she stabs the man deep in his abdomen with all her might. He howls in pain as (Y/N) pulls it back out, producing a rush of blood to spill out into the water. She rips another arm free and slaps his face with her tail.

Now free, she swiftly propels through the water, heading for the deep. Swimming back to the hidden safety of the stone arch, she tries to regain her breath. Her heart hammers in her chest, the sound of blood thumping in her ears and her body trembles.

 _Now what?_ She wonders.


	4. Exploration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with this new chapter! I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted a new one.
> 
> I hope you don’t mind I’ve sort of switched the reader insert into an OC. I’ve still kept some physical attributes vague but decided to give our reader a name. My reason is writing (y/n) in 3rd person kind of threw off my flow when writing, so I created a name for our mermaid reader. 
> 
> Warnings: animal death

Arthur's eyes twitch beneath his closed lids, his breathing shallow and quick. He lays upon a worn cot within the ruins of the old stone fort. The tall trees above him provide relieving shade over the small camp. The events of the past couple weeks seamlessly transition in his memory: Hosea's splattered blood upon the cobblestone street, Lenny's lifeless body on the rooftop, the rolling storm clouds beyond the sea's horizon.  
Arthur remembers the orange glow of the flames on the ship. The intense heat, followed by the chilling dark waters below. His heart beats hard and fast, thumping loudly in his ears like heavy drums of a battalion.  
Suddenly, his anxiety ceases and his breathing slows at the sight of a rising sun. Its yellow light shines with warmth as it breaks above a grassy hillside. The green prairie grass grows high as a tall animal crosses the dense field. It gently pushes through the grass, bowing its head to graze on the lush greens. Arthur begins to recognize the animal: a stag. Its rounded rack of antlers sit high upon its head, like a jagged crown of ivory. With a twitch of its ears the stag raises his head and turns to him, acknowledging his presence. But it doesn't startle. The stag gazes with its glassy eyes. They hold a beautiful amber glow that matches the sunlight.  
Arthur had never seen such beauty in the eyes of a beast, for he had only seen the pupils of their eyes stretch to black after their life had been taken.  
The sun flashes brightly and Arthur wakes with a deep, ragged breath through his nose. For a moment, he forgets his surroundings until his vision clears. He remembers the gun fight, the man named Hercule, Javier falling on the beach, and the strange woman.  
Arthur's worry returns at the thought of Javier and the woman surrounded by the soldiers in blue while he and the gang escape into the dense jungle. He hopes Dutch will come up with a plan to get Javier back.

He hopes to see the woman again, alive. 

Arthur stands with stiff joints, the skin of his cheeks and forehead feel uncomfortably tight from the sunburn. He recognizes a dark figure crouched over the small fire in front of him. The flames and smoke are kept low to avoid alerting the local patrols.

“Mornin’ Hercule,” Arthur greets with a gravelly voice, “Or should I say, ‘afternoon’?”

He looks up towards the sky to gauge the location of the sun, bringing his hand to his brow to shield his eyes. The dense jungle trees make it difficult to determine the time, and the humidity this far inland makes it feel awfully hot. It feels much like Lemoyne, where the temperature doesn’t break until long after the sun drops and stays humid well through the early morning.

Hercule chuckles lightly and responds, “I’d say it’s nearly twelve o’clock.” He too, looks to the sky with squinted eyes.

His thick accent surprisingly gives Arthur some comfort. The man speaks confidently and coolly, as if he can foretell what’s to happen. He doesn’t waste words either—unlike Dutch who can cause the most eloquent man’s head to spin with such an exuberant vocabulary and lengthy sentences that seem to reach no point.

The man could be a politician if he chose such a life.

”You’re all low on food, my friend.” Hercule says, standing up and sheathing the machete he was wiping. “Might I suggest we go hunt?”

“Now?” Arthur asks, hinting at more important tasks at hand.

Hercule shrugs to him, “Unless you’d rather starve, then yes. I doubt you had eaten anything since you arrived.”

As if on command, Arthur’s stomach growls so loudly that he smacks a hand to his gut in an attempt to stifle its grumbles. He recalls his last meal was the bits of charred rat he shared with the men at the beach.

“Alright but...shouldn’t we focus on gettin’ out of here? Gettin’ our friend back?” Arthur asks hurriedly, attempting to mask his concern. He desperately wants to get off this island and back home—back to his homeland that he knows and understands. He feels helpless being here, like a lost child in an unfamiliar place. It’s an anxious feeling he hasn’t felt in years. 

“Your friend Dutch is working on that at the moment with my comrades,” Hercule responds neutrally. “Come, there is plenty of boar on this island, and it’ll be much better with two.”

Hercule picks up the bolt action rifle next to Arthur’s cot and hands it to him after checking the bullets within the barrel chamber.

“You can keep watch for anything suspicious while I hunt,” Hercule says, grabbing a handmade bow and a leather quiver of arrows.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow at the simple bow.

“Think that’d be enough?“ he asks.

“Better to hunt quietly, unless you want that bastard Fussar to find us.” Hercule replies.

Arthur hums, “Good point.”

....

If it weren’t for the fact they’re wanted men on this island, Arthur could find this place rather peaceful. He can hear the shores in the distance as he and Hercule walk closer to the coast, tracking the boar. Arthur scans the area while Hercule walks in front, following the tracks in the sand and dirt. The vibrant colors of the tropical birds catch Arthur’s eyes and he watches them fly up into the trees. Their feathers stand out against the foliage: the bright blues and yellows and striking reds. They’re as large as eagles and far more beautiful than any bird he’s seen back home.  
Arthur hopes his journal is still safe at home. He wishes he could sketch them right now, while he can still see them.  
They reach the top of a small hill when Hercule raises his hand.

“There!” Hercule exclaims softly. He notches his arrow and draws the bowstring, aiming at the massive boar below the hill, straight ahead of them.

He looses his arrow and watches it strike the side of the animal with a swift thud. The carved stone arrowhead narrowly misses its heart. It squeals in painful terror and runs in the opposite direction, towards the coast.

“Damn,” Hercule curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head behind him, watching the broad palm leaves rustle and shake as the boar runs off.

The two of them continue tracking the animal, following the crimson drops of blood on the ivory sand. The air starts to feel cool from the ocean breeze as they walk closer to the edge of the island. The jungle brush grows thinner and the tracks turn from subtle drops to a bloody trail and become easier to follow.

Hercule speaks, “Finally. There it is.” He points to the animal lying dead on the beach. Its dark hide stands out against the white sand.

They approach the dead pig and start to field dress it: removing its hide and cutting the meat into various cuts and wrapping them in cloth. Hercule grabs his large bag and divides the cuts of meat, one half for him, the other for Arthur and the men. The process takes them close to an hour, it’s such a large beast for two men. 

“These are for you,” he says, handing Arthur his half of the boar meat. It’s enough to feed the men for several days, and Arthur manages to stuff them into his temporary satchel. Arthur’s makeshift bag is stretched to its limits, holding the large cuts of meat inside its leather boundaries held together with crude stitches.

“The rest I will give to my people and sell to the villagers,” Hercule continues. “Many people are without food on this island.”

“Thank you, Hercule,” Arthur says, following him to the shore.

They walk to the water and wash the blood off their hands. It’s clotted thick on their skin like paint, but easily dissolves away once it touches the salt water. The crimson color fades away with the gentle tide and is erased from their skin.

“You are welcome, Mister Morgan. Soon we will find your friend and get you off this island.” Hercule responds, shaking his hands dry. He starts to head back towards the jungle before he stops.

“I’ll head into the village to sell this and see if I can find a captain who will take you home. I suggest you head back to your camp.” Hercule says. “Do you know your way back?” He asks Arthur, stopping to turn back to him.

Arthur looks to him and nods, “Sure. I remember the way.”

“Always be on alert, Mister Morgan. You can find me at the old fort, Cinco Torres. Not far from here.” Hercule waves a quick goodbye to which Arthur returns as Hercule quickly steps into the jungle. 

Arthur now stands alone on the beach, rubbing his fingers along his cotton suspenders and feeling the loose waistband of his pants. He breathes a rough sigh before a harsh cough rumbles from his chest and scratches his throat. He struggles to catch his breath and bends over to rest a hand on his knee. It feels as if he’s still got sea water in his lungs until he finally hacks his throat clear. A thick, wet lump of mucus is coughed up into his mouth. In disgust, he spits out the bloody wad onto the white sand and wipes a trail of blood from his lips.  
Straightening himself up, he finds that he isn’t alone.

He sees her, peering from behind a rock in the water just several yards away. Arthur freezes in place, watching the strange woman and trying not to spook her. Like predators crossing paths in the wild, they remain motionless and wary, waiting for the slightest twitch that could send either one fleeing or pursuing.  
The woman remains at her spot, watching and waiting for Arthur’s next move. Her eyes are wide and glassy. Thin white membranes blink slowly over her eyes like cloudy veils and disappear behind her eyelids. Arthur tries to see the rest of her body that’s submerged in the water, but he cannot see from where he stands. He suddenly notices she’s still nude from the waist up, with her long hair covering her chest. The long, wet strands of hair lay plastered on her chest, conforming to her shapely breasts and structured shoulders.  
They both stay frozen in place, unsure of what to do next.

Her feminine voice softly croaks from behind the rock, sending a chill to Arthur’s flushed skin.  
“Your friend. The one called Javier?” She says, her voice calm. Her voice has a slight melody to it but, with a wet gargle. Arthur can only describe it as like the trill of a tree frog combined with the eerie, nocturnal warble of an owl. 

”Yes?” Arthur responds hesitantly.

“He’s alive.” The woman tells him. 

A quiet sigh of relief escapes Arthur’s lips and his eyes light up in a slight rejoice. The tension in his shoulders release only minutely. The woman in the water notices this and allows herself to relax slightly. The pair of them listen to the gentle waves splash on the shore during this quiet exchange of words.

Arthur asks her, “Where, uh, where is he?” 

The woman’s wide eyes look down, away from Arthur as if in remorse.

“Held prisoner,” she answers solemnly. “On the plantation.”

Arthur breathes a disturbed sigh at her notification, rubbing his scraggly beard with a rough palm. Feeling brave, he decides to take a step forward in the wet sand.

The woman notices and tenses behind the small rock. Her webbed hands grip the rock tightly, ready to propel herself away.  
Halting himself, Arthur raises his hands up in surrender.

“Iss-alright. It’s alright,” he drawls in his accent, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” 

Watching his every move, she waits behind the rock while he slowly removes his shoes and rolls his pants up to his knees. Like approaching the wild horses of the plains, Arthur steps forward into the foaming water with his hands raised just above his hips in assurance. The dazzling blue water gently splashes against his pale legs. 

“What’s yer name?” He asks, stepping further in the water until it nearly reaches the fabric of his pants that reach just below his knees. 

“(Y/N),” she answers, still guarded. 

“That’s a nice name…(Y/N).”

“It was given to me by my tutor.” 

“Your…your tutor?” Arthur queries with a pleasant smile, barely showing his teeth behind his lips. He feels a sudden inquisitive need: a curious desire for knowledge that needs to be satisfied. 

“Yes. He gave me it. My real name is…Isopora.” She answers. Rarely has she given her true name to strangers, especially humans. But his presence feels non-threatening and oddly comforting. Though, she doesn’t know why. 

“Isopora.” Arthur enunciated slowly. 

They both smile at his utterance of her name. It rolls off his tongue and falls from his lips like the soft babbling of a stream. Its crisp, clear waters trickle gently over the rocks as it flows from its diverted source of the deep, dark river. 

“My name’s Arthur…Arthur Morgan.” He states. His voice is warm and inviting with a rich, complex timbre that mirrors the guttural vocals of the seals from Isopora’s homeland. And that accent! Isopora can’t recognize it. It sounds funny, with his slight garbles and relaxed slurring of consonants. 

Arthur reaches out, extending his sunburned hand to her in good faith. Isopora stares at his thick hand and calloused fingers, confused and unsure. Removing her webbed hand from the rock, she mimics Arthur’s pose to place her hand within his. She’s reluctant at first, twitching her hand away at the slightest touch, like a shy wild thing getting used to human contact. Arthur remains still, his arm still extended, until she finally rests her hand in the welcoming handshake. He wraps his fingers around hers in a gentle grip—firm, yet soft. 

She expects him to clench his hand around her wrist in a trick and attempt to pull her ashore, but he simply shakes her hand. Her hand grips Arthur’s tightly in a small show of strength, and he notices. Isopora’s grip is firm and Arthur catches the muscles of her forearm contracting as she squeezes. He follows her toned muscles all the way up her biceps to her brawny shoulders. 

_She’s a work of art_ , Arthur thinks to himself, eyeing her well-knit body. Her sculpted arms, rounded shoulders, jutted collarbone, and sturdy midsection glisten in the sunlight. Her skin looks wonderfully smooth and her muscles stand out despite hiding beneath a generous layer of warm, protective fat. His gaze moves further down her curves as he steals a glance at her lengthy tail.  
It’s nearly camouflaged in the tropical blue water, but Arthur watches a bundle of silvery scales glimmer as they catch the rays of sun. Her feathery tail fin swishes against the waves to keep herself steady. 

“So uh,” Arthur clears his throat awkwardly, still shaking her hand, “yer really a mermaid?” 

An unexpected laugh erupts from Isopora and she bares her teeth in an amused grin. Her sudden joyful bark of laughter infects Arthur and he chuckles alongside her. 

Minutes later, after a continued exchange of greetings, Arthur wades back to shore. Isopora follows close behind, but not too close. With a tired grunt, Arthur sets himself down onto the sand, allowing the tide to barely lap at his bare toes. Isopora remains partly submerged in front of him, resting on her stomach and elbows and softly swishing her flukes in the shallow water.  
A moment of silence passes for God knows how long. Arthur remains transfixed by her colorful form. His eyes examine the seam of her scales that perfectly mold into her skin just below her navel. Arthur expected all of her scales to be smooth and flat like a trout, but the further his eyes travel down her length, he notices the scales grow thicker and larger. Much like the textured scales of a snake, they cover her lower body in a protective armor. The glistening wet scales catch the rays of the bright afternoon sun and shimmer like tiny mirrors, flashing bright colors off her body like rainbows. 

"Do you remember anything from the shipwreck?" Isopora asks him in a soft trill. 

Arthur’s eyes snap from her tail up to her dark eyes. He furrows his brows in thought as he replays the memories in his mind.

"Sort of," he shrugs, "I remember Dutch waking me up, and there was a fire. And then..."

While Arthur takes his time remembering the incident, Isopora takes the opportunity to look over his features.  
She admires his tall frame, his broad shoulders, and barreled chest. He looks to be a man of great strength, conditioned by heavy lifting. Though his waist looks narrowed from starvation.

 _No doubt he's the workhorse of the family_ , she wonders, recalling the other men she had seen him chained to.  
She looks at Arthur's hands while he twitches his fingers and raises his arms to animate his story of jumping off the boat. 

"...then there was this real high squealing, like a...hum or somethin’," Arthur continues, trying to articulate his thoughts, "And then nothin'."

Isopora hums in agreement, “I forget when I speak underwater, humans can’t quite understand it.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at her in a mix of shock and confusion, “Wait, that...that was you?” He points to her.

She smiles in embarrassment, cinching her eyes closed as she admits, “Yes. That was me.”

“So, you...you saved me?” Arthur points to her. The gears in his head continue to turn as he recollects his memories.

“That’s why you washed up there with me.” He finishes. 

Isopora looks behind her towards the water and turns back to Arthur with a playful look.  
“Would you like to hear?” She offers.

“Shoar,” Arthur drawls. Like a curious child, Arthur scoots a bit further up on the sand, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Isopora’s smile grows wider and she begins to drag herself further into the water.  
“Okay,” she says, “Stay right there.”

Arthur watches her enter the water. Her blue-green scales disappear under the ocean as the gentle waves splash upon her. With a soft kick of her fin, she swims backwards until the water rises up to her chest. Her eyes stay fixed upon Arthur, who waits curiously on the sand.  
Arthur watches her smirk and dip silently below the water’s surface. He watches her disappear into the water and slows his breathing so he could listen for her sounds.  
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Until, an eerie howl echoes from the water. The hairs on his arm stand on edge, but he doesn’t feel afraid. Her high-pitched moans and howls continue and Arthur listens attentively.  
It almost sounds like singing, he thinks to himself. It’s both haunting and ethereal, like the echoing wail of a loon. Her various pitches become littered with clicks and pops that are so sharp, Arthur could feel the sounds vibrate in his ears.  
Arthur breathes a small chuckle of amazement at her beautiful song. It lasts for only a minute and finally ends as he watches her break the water’s surface. 

She returns to him on the shore, her thick hair wet against her silky skin and the cloudy membranes on her eyes retreat back under her lids. Her naked breasts remained covered by her long hair.  
Isopora smiles humbly at Arthur while he softly gives a clap of his hands.

“Beautiful,” he says, “What were you singing—er, saying?”

She answers, “The same thing I was trying to tell you that night.”

Arthur looks at her in confusion.

Biting her lip, she explains, “You were struggling and I swam up to help, but when I went to pull you up for air, you started thrashing.” She hesitates for a moment but continues, “I tried telling you ‘it’ll be alright’, but you were so scared.”

Arthur finishes for her, “And that’s when everything went dark,” he says.

“Yeah,” Isopora cringes, “I’m sorry about that...I had to, uh, ‘knock your lights out’. So to speak.”

“What?” Arthur asks in surprise.

”You were thrashing so badly when I grabbed you!” She defends, “I wasn’t trying to keep you under like you thought I was. I was trying to help. But I should know by now that when trying to save a person from drowning, expect to be dragged down with them,” She chuckles.

“Well, that explains why.” Arthur laughs, “No hard feelings, I guess. Ain’t the first time someone did that.”

The smile wanes from Isopora’s face and she looks at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” She asks, her tone serious. 

Arthur shrugs in response, picking the sand beneath his fingernails. 

“Well,” he sighs, avoiding her gaze and looking past her shoulder to the sea behind her. It extends far beyond the horizon like a blue void. The ripples of the surface waves look like textured glass with bright yellow colors of the sun merging with the ocean blues. 

“I tend to find trouble or trouble finds me. I ain’t a good man…I do bad things and bad things are done to me in return.” 

“Like what?” Isopora asks, suddenly fearful for her own safety. 

“I’ve robbed…killed people. Run with a gang of people like me,” Arthur answers, unsure as to why he’s suddenly opening himself up to a stranger. A creature that should only belong in fairy tales, no doubt. Why is he so talkative all of a sudden, he wonders? 

He continues regardless, “Used to be that we’d only steal from the rich and give what’s left to the poor but…seems so long ago now. Now we’re shootin’ up towns in the name of survival. Tryin’ to find a place in the world.”

He speaks with such uncertainty and dread for the future, that whatever choices he makes are fruitless and inconsequential. All forked roads lead to the same inevitable end.  
Perhaps this is his time for confession. An opportunity to repent one’s sins, with no risk of judgement. There truly was no one else he could speak to about these things—no human being that is. Why not unveil them to this woman? This creature that, realistically speaking, could just be a figment of Arthur’s imagination?

“What made you change?” Isopora asks.

Arthur looks to her eyes with a cold stare, “Weren’t us who changed,” he states defensively, “The world’s changed. Civilization’s movin’ in. And there ain’t room for people like us no more.” 

Isopora hums, as if in agreement.  
“Those men you were chained with,” Isopora recalls from memory, “they’re your people? Your gang?”

Arthur nods. 

“That boat,” Isopora continues to pry, “Where were you going?” 

“We were headed to Tahiti, initially.” Arthur answers. 

Isopora gives him a confused look. 

_Tahiti? That’s on the other side of the world._

As if hearing her thoughts, Arthur explains.

“Our boat was supposed to go to Cuba. We were runnin’. Hopped on the boat from America and…ended up here, I guess.”

An American? How exciting, Isopora thinks to herself. She’s met different characters throughout her life, but never an American. She’s only heard about these wild, free-spirited, gun-toting creatures with a thirst for adventure. 

Isopora laughs dryly, “You’re a long way from Tahiti, my friend. That’s all the way in the South Pacific…We’re essentially in the Caribbean.”

Arthur looks to her inquisitively. He never gave it much thought as to where Tahiti actually is. At this point, he thought it was a fantasy island made up by Dutch to keep spirits up.  
Isopora guesses that Arthur isn’t quite familiar with world geography, outside his own familiar territory. After all, she doesn’t even know that he’s only ever stayed on land. Never travelled across the sea. 

“Well,” Arthur states. “Accordin’ to Dutch, it’s supposed to be an untouched paradise.”

“Kinda small,” Isopora replies. 

Arthur gives her another confused look. “You been there?” He asks, almost excitedly. 

She shrugs, “Oui. Une fois, il y a longtemps.”

Another blank and confused stare is painted on Arthur’s face in response to her foreign reply.

Isopora smiles, “It’s a French colony. It’s been…decades since I’ve traveled there, and it was only once. But…how do you know there’d be room for you there? 

Arthur bites his inner cheek in thought as he huffs, “Hmm…you got a point there.”

“To be honest, it’s better you’re shipwrecked on the way to Cuba than Tahiti. There’s a lot more open ocean to be stranded in the Pacific.” 

“You’re a hell of a world traveler, ain’t’cha?” Arthur smirks.

“One could call me that, yes.” Isopora answers with a similar smile. 

“Well, I ain’t much of one so, I’ll take yer word for it.”

Isopora opens her mouth to respond until she catches movement from the corner of her sharp eyes. Narrowing her gaze, she sees two men on patrol, heading their way. 

Fussar’s soldiers. 

Arthur notices her chest falling and rising rapidly. 

Following her line of sight, Arthur asks, “What is it?” 

Without hesitation, Isopora grabs his hand and tugs him towards the water.

“We must hide!” She hisses in fear, pulling him in with immense strength. She drags him with her as she swims behind a large bundle of rocks. Three large stones stand tall above the water, with a small gap in the center— enough to hide one of them out of sight. The middle stone stands tallest, with the other two standing parallel to each other. 

The gap is tight and the water is high. Arthur holds onto Isopora tightly by her waist as he feels his toes float freely in the water, unable to touch the bottom. He struggles to hold himself against the slick rock with his wet hands slipping at each attempt. Isopora’s naked breasts press against his chest as she helps him stay above the water against the waves. He tries his best to avert his eyes, turning his head awkwardly to peek at the oncoming patrol. 

Idle fingers start to involuntarily caress Isopora’s smooth scales. A palm lies pressed against her hips, keeping Arthur safely close to her while the other hand tries to brace himself against the rock. His fingers cannot help but examine on their own. The sensation transitions from slightly coarse to velvety soft with each subtle rub on her scales and up to her skin.  
A pair of voices grow louder as they near the spot Arthur and Isopora once rested. Their words are unfamiliar to Arthur, but he can detect the casual tone of their chatting. 

Until he hears a surprised exclaim from the beach and Arthur suddenly remembers. 

He left his shoes behind. 

His eyes grow wide and he looks up to Isopora. She mirrors his look of terror and listens to the patrolmen talk excitedly. 

She understands their language clearly, hearing them talk of where this mystery person could be. 

“They must be in the water,” one says. 

“Let’s look,” the other replies. 

With their chests pressed together, their hearts drum rapidly in sync. Despite the adrenaline surging through his veins, Arthur keeps his breathing slow. He clenches his eyes shut as he silently scolds himself for being so foolish.  
When his eyelids open, he nearly jerks away in alarm. Isopora remains close to him, but her entire body has now changed color. An arm is slightly outstretched above Arthur’s head with Isopora’s hand pressed against the rock behind him. Peppered with splotches of gray, black and white, her skin has turned into the same pale shade as the stones surrounding them. Her once smooth arms are now textured with raised bumps and edges that mimic the stone. She covers Arthur’s body with her camouflaged form and remains still like a statue. Her eyes turn black and the cloudy membranes of her lids cover her obsidian orbs.

Time passes slowly while they remain as still as can be. The rifle on Arthur’s back painfully presses into him, but he doesn’t dare to adjust himself. He feels Isopora’s hand gripping his side tightly, her arm wrapped around his lower back. The tips of her fingers squeeze his flesh and her body presses against him completely, covering him in a protective cocoon. Arthur’s chapped lips nearly brush her shoulder as she towers over him closely, keeping his face hidden in the crook of her neck. 

Isopora’s eyes dart to her left. A man in blue stands at the edge of the tide, less than a hundred feet away. 

Rifle in hand, he leans forward to peer towards their hiding spot. It’s as if he’s staring right at them, unaware. 

Arthur’s eyes remain on Isopora, fearful of making the slightest movement that could give them away.

Isopora stares at the blue soldier with unwavering eyes. She watches him examine the rough pillars of stone with his own dark eyes. She can feel him follow the curves of her body that’s almost merged with the rock. Arthur stays hidden within the small gap. He squeezes his arm around Isopora’s waist for dear life.

The unseen second patrolman calls for his companion, and the man turns away to look. Isopora’s eyes follow him as he walks out of sight. She hears the men speak as they hopefully assume whoever left those boots is now drowned far away from shore. Isopora listens closely as the men leave and resume walking along the beach. Their voices grow faint until she can hear them no longer.  
Gradually, the splotchy pale camouflage disintegrates and Isopora’s natural tone reappears in a smooth cascade. Like the blush in Arthur’s cheeks, her beautiful color flushes to her skin. The two remain in a quiet stillness, barely feeling the other’s heartbeat under the gentle waves that splash over them. The waves push and pull in a gentle rhythm. Isopora’s body softly pushes against Arthur’s before pulling away. His own body follows towards her as the wave pulls them back, moving their hips in an almost aquatic dance. 

“Come,” Isopora finally breaks the silence, drifting away and extending a hand for Arthur to follow. He lightly grasps her hand and swims alongside her back to shore. 

“You think it’s safe for you to head back?” Isopora asks, looking to him with her unveiled eyes. 

His clothes drenched and heavy, Arthur stands and walks up on the sand. 

“I dunno,” he says, staring blankly in thought, “This island seems t’be crawlin’ with ‘em. I don’t know if it’s safe anywhere.” 

An idea breaks in Isopora’s head while Arthur slips on his boots. 

“There’s a cave,” she tells him, “Not too far from here, behind the waterfall. Meet me there when you can.”

Arthur’s jaw goes slack and he raises an eyebrow in question, “How do you—”

“There’s a channel that leads to it,” she explains, “I can easily go through it and it leads to a small pool on the other side.” 

Arthur nods before looking up towards the sun. It’s still early in the afternoon yet; plenty of sunlight to find his way back. 

“Okay. How do I find it?” He asks.

“Just follow the river upstream. You’ll see it. Climb behind the waterfall and follow the cave straight ahead. Follow the gaps in the ceiling. The light will show you the way. You’ll reach the end of the cave that opens to a clearing.” She answers. 

Another nod and Arthur turns to face the jungle. He feels exposed on this empty beach with no canopy of cover to hide in, but to enter the hanging vines and broad ferns of the dense forest fills him with dread. What lurks in the dark corners of this humid labyrinth? A single step in the wrong direction could lead to doom. 

“Arthur?”

He looks back over his shoulder to Isopora with his bright, blue-green eyes. 

“Be safe.” She tells him. 

“You too.” Arthur replies in a near whisper. 

He steps forward into the trees, shoulders tense and eyes scanning his surroundings. Isopora watches him from the shore until he disappears into the thick and shady foliage.


End file.
